Happy Birthday Mack!

This past week, Mack turned the ripe old age of 13. Yep. Fucking old. But he still has an ass like a dog of 9. Macks words. Not mine.

Although physically Mack is in superb shape for a dog his age, Mack does display some characteristic behaviors of his now geriatric age bracket.

For example, he is somewhat hard of hearing. I say somewhat because it’s an unknown ratio of  age and selective hearing. it seems Mack’s ability to hear is directly contingent upon my proximity to food.

Mack is also turning into a one of those old men who just doesn’t give a fuck. About his actions, his appearance or what people think of him. He now begs at the dinner table, licks the dirty dishes in the dishwasher rack as I rinse them after dinner and rips ass frequently and without care. Oh wait, that last part has always happened. You can yell at him or shoot him with the sprayer from the kitchen sink but you’ll get the same, shit-eating grin of his every time. “What you gonna do? Spank me like a puppy? I DO WHAT I WANT!”, Mack seems to emanate.

On Saturday, we planned to celebrate with Mackie during the afternoon. By the time we got all of our errands taken care of, it was after 1. I found Mack in a deep, afternoon slumber on his raggedy-ass couch in our basement. I woke him up by the same old ‘treat under the nose’ trick that just never gets old. I love watching him go from sleep to eat in under 4 seconds. God damn that dog loves his food.

Then it was time to let him take care of his business in the backyard before we left. Mack is a pro at stalling when you want him to move. There’s a lot of dawdling. First, Mack hates exercise, so going up the stairs takes about a minute. Then he makes a point of drinking all of the water out of Peterbilt’s dish. Mack really gets a kick out of that.

I let Mack out, went to find my phone and my purse and heard Mack’s big boy bark coming from the yard. Mack rarely barks. I ran out to see, figuring there was a deer in the backyard or that autistic kid got loose again. Nope. The neighbors had a small, white tent set up in their back yard. How frightening. Fur mohawk city.

I reassured Mack that white tents are not alive and stroked his fur back down, all the while, Hubs has been waiting in the car the whole time. i coaxed Mack back in house and to the driveway, Mack resisting the entire time.

We recently bought a 2-door Chevy Cavalier, which replaced a 4-door Ford Taurus. Both bulldogs have not been fans of the 2-door car so far. Mack refuses to squeeze into the backseat with the front seat folded down. It takes both me and my husband to force him inside, where he further protests by standing in the footwells. At this point, we unfold the passenger seat and move it back, physically forcing him to jump up on the backseat. Mack let out a grunt at his unceremonious birthday send off.

We are finally on our way. The birthday ritual of a car-ride to the “buffet” (Chuck and Don’s Pet Food Outlet) for Mack.

photo 1 copy

Since Mack’s been double-digits, we usually pepper the birthday car ride with sarcastic remarks about his age. “Was Jesus cool?”. “What was your favorite dinosaur?” “Mack, tell us again about your cocaine days at Studio 54.” We just can’t help ourselves.

We arrived at the pet food store and a line of female employees gathered to pet the birthday boy. With each one, the same process repeated: Mack’s ears would pin and his nub would wag, he’d check both hands for treats, find nothing and walk away disinterested before they could even pet him. Because fuck pets and kisses. In a store full of food, Mack fully expects to get his ‘ugly eat’ on.

Mack then did his usual gorge of the open bins of dog treats:

Overeaters Anonymous called, Mack.

Overeaters Anonymous called, Mack.

You’ll notice my husband pulling very hard on the leash, Mack trying to dig his heels into the smooth tile floor.

"To hell with both of you! I'm starving!"

“To hell with both of you! I’m starving!”

Mack is so much more easier to drag on tile.


At one point, I had a treat in my hand while taking a picture. Mack almost ate an iPhone for his birthday:



We ended up paying for all (most) of the treats he gobbled down and managed to win a bag of treats from a Plinko game they had up and running. We even bought him a new rope toy that came with an chunk of antler built into it.


Mack, exhausted from turning down bitches, willingly got into the car and napped the rest of the way home.

Happy Birthday, old man dog.


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